Avatar: Of Legends and Shadows
by HidingFromTheSpotlight
Summary: It's modern day Britain and the world has almost completely forgotten about bending, magic, and the Avatar. Those who do remember are either trying to wipe out any trace of what the world once was, or trying to save it. All benders practise in secret, hiding from the world. But there is no one in this world more hidden than the Avatar, a man named Sherlock Holmes.
1. The Water-bender

**A/N: Just thought I might give you a taste of what I've been working on lately (not that this is the only one but... yeah.) So... yeah, go nuts. Or don't. Anyway, please review and tell me what you think. It's unbeta-ed, so any mistakes are mine and mine alone (though I'd love it if you tell me).**

**Disclaimer: ATLA and Sherlock are not mine. I've just jumped the fence so I can have a dip in their pools.**

**Chapter One: The Next Avatar**

Since the day Sherlock was born, his parents knew he was special. As he grew, it became apparent that he was very bright, simultaneously fascinated and bored with the world, as though it was his first day of life, but also his last. He adored the stories his father told him about men who could move mountains and breathe fire, and about beasts that flew through the air without wings and a creature the size of an island. Sometimes he would even tell _him_ the ending to the story, despite never hearing it before. When he was seven, his mother taught him a very special form of martial arts that he couldn't talk about to anyone, but by now he was used to his parents' secretive nature. He knew with just a glance that his parents were hiding something, and it was little surprise when they told him about the secret history of their family. Water-benders had once been a proud people, living at the North and South Pole without fear. But the world changed and bender became a dirty word. Those with power were exiled or hunted, forced to hide their gifts and assume the guise of normalcy. The same fate befell the Fire-benders, the Earth-benders, and the remnants of the Air-benders. Every Avatar after this exile sought a way to reunite the people, and failed. A mysterious anti-bender group, known only as 'the League', desired the extinction of all forms of bending, and continue their witch-hunt even in the light of the modern world. Sudden raids on homes in the middle of the night, people disappearing for involvement in 'suspicious activities' and children being taken from their families. These were the signs. The Order of the White lotus does its best to help as many as they can, but it is a losing battle. Sherlock knows this, and he has known it since the day he witnessed a man, a Fire-bender who did nothing more than heat up a cup of tea, being dragged off in the middle of a crowded market with no objections. All they had to say was, "He's dangerous." The benders were losing ground, and they had been since the last Avatar, the very last of the natural Air-benders, died nearly four hundred years before. So when the Order came to visit his family home in the middle of the night when he was just eleven years old, Sherlock already had his answer to the question they would ask.

"No."

"Sherlock, you can't just say _no_, the world needs you." Mrs Holmes whispered hurriedly.

"It is alright, Mrs Holmes. Your son is young, and the world is not kind to those who are different. He already understands this, and it would be unfair to force such a burden on him. We will return when he is older to ask again, if he changes his mind. For now, we will allow him his childhood for a little longer." Jai Hyde, Grand Master of the White Lotus, answered smoothly. He looked directly into Sherlock's eyes, his faced lined with sadness, exhaustion, and fear. "Please, while we are gone, think of what your return would mean to the few of us who are left. Please. You are the only hope we have left."

The three members of the Order, old and weary and strong, bowed low to him. They murmured something in a foreign tongue, a prayer for his safety and his prosperity, and then they left. The only one to look back was Master Katherine Wayne, another Water-bender, and between them passed an understanding. _When the time comes, you will do what is right._

Later, after his mother and father had tucked him into bed and read him another story, though he knew now that they were actually true stories, his older brother came to him. He didn't say anything at first, choosing instead to comb Sherlock's hair with his fingers, the way he used to do when they were younger. "Why did you say no, Sherlock? Why say no to that power? Why don't you want to be the Avatar?"

"Because…they want me to save the world. They want me to make it so that we don't have to be afraid anymore. But I can't do it. I can't fix the world, it's too broken. And I'm just a kid."

"Has mother ever told you the story of Avatar Aang?"

"No. But if I'm supposed to be the new Avatar, then he's one of my past lives, right?"

"Right. When Aang found out he was the Avatar, he ran away. Somehow, he ended up frozen in an iceberg with his Sky Bison. And they stayed like that for a hundred years. When he woke up, the world was at war and his people were gone, wiped out in a mass genocide. It was his duty to restore the balance to the world by defeating a Fire Lord, who was following his ancestor's example; he wanted to take over the world, and he was willing to kill people to do it. Aang was forced to master the elements in barely a year's time, so that he could stop the Fire Lord from committing genocide of the Earth Kingdom. And he did. He took away the Fire Lord's bending, and the world became peaceful once more. Aang was only twelve. If he could do it, why couldn't you?"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Did he _really_ do all of that when he was twelve?"

"Scouts honour." Mycroft grinned. "I will admit that he did have a bit of help. He had friends from all walks of life, from all of the four nations, and together they saved the world." He dropped his hands from Sherlock's head, reaching for the ancient tome on the highest shelf. "Here, I'll show you, see?"

Sherlock studied the magnificently drawn image of a bald child with arrow tattoos, a group of comrades at his back, facing off against a tall, dark-haired man who was breathing fire. The caption proclaimed it, 'The Phoenix King Versus the Avatar: the Battle for the World'. He turned the page to find another picture: this one of the Avatar, his body lit with an almost holy light, pressing his hands to the Phoenix King's face, while in the background an older boy with a scarred face and a dark-skinned girl fought against what seemed to be lightning. This caption read, 'The End of the Phoenix King and the Rise of Peace'.

"That's Zuko and Katara behind Aang, fighting against Zuko's sister, Azula, for the right to become the new Fire Lord. Zuko and Katara won." Mycroft told him, pointing at each one in turn.

Sherlock squinted at the picture, making out the form of a girl amongst the lightning. "She could bend lightning?"

"Yes. It takes a deep spiritual balance, but potentially all Fire-benders could do it." Mycroft said, closing the book and putting it back on its shelf. He turned back to Sherlock, and kissed the child on his forehead. "Don't forget, Sherlock. You've done this a thousand times before, technically. I believe you can be the one who sets us free."

"Mycroft…"

"Yes?"

"Are you nervous? About your Water-bending assessment by the Order, I mean?" Sherlock bit his lip, not looking up. The assessment- an examination that would decide if the bender in question had the skill and talent to go on to try for Mastery and, later, a place amongst the Order –had been a sore, rarely spoken about subject since it had first been mentioned a few weeks before. Their mother had failed by exactly _one_ mark, and since having her own children she had been determined to see that they would succeed.

Mycroft was quiet for a moment, fidgeting with Sherlock's blankets. "Not really. I've been training for a while, so it shouldn't be that hard. It's just that, if I pass, I might not come home."

"Why?"

"It's a long story, Sherlock. And you need to rest. I'll tell you about it later."

"Can't you give me the abridged version?"

Mycroft sighed. "They might send me far away, to somewhere like America or Australia, to be one of their operatives. I might have to fight members of… of the you-know-what. And I might die."

Sherlock patted Mycroft's cheek gently. "Don't worry, Mycroft. You're the best Water-bender there is. No one could hurt you."

"Thank you for the support, little brother. And I know you're going to be a great Avatar, the greatest that ever lived." Mycroft smiled, kissing his brother's forehead once more and leaving.

Sherlock lay back in his bed, cuddling his stuffed bear, and began to dream of a young monk leading him through a maze. He passed many people, who all seemed to know who he was, and saw creatures that defied logic. When he awoke, he forgot everything except the last word's of the monk, "_No matter what you lose, no matter how much you suffer, you will always find your way to the right path. You are the Avatar._"

**d(^_^)b**

Mycroft had passed his assessment and was pronounced a fully-fledged Water-bender, much to his mother's delight, the day after his eighteenth birthday. Despite his fears, he was not sent to parts unknown, but returned home to assist his brother's training. By his fourteenth birthday, Sherlock had mastered Water-bending, though he would not require an assessment (the perks of being the Avatar). The next night, his house was burnt to the ground and his parents were dead. It had been swift and sudden; twelve men in masks surrounded their house with torches, nailing boards across the doors and windows. Only one door was left unbarred, and it was through this a thirteenth man entered, murder his only intent. Mr Holmes, a non-bender who had enthusiastically immersed himself in his wife's culture, chose to defend his family while they went out the secret passageway in the basement. The intruder beat him mercilessly, and was about to strike the final blow when Mrs Holmes reappeared. They struggled, the woman desperate to protect her family, the man eager to wipe out another abomination. The man won out, overpowering Mrs Holmes despite her fantastic power, and knocked her unconscious. Before she succumbed to the darkness nipping at her mind, she used the last of her strength to fling the man from her home, back through the door he had come through. The twelve surged forward, barring the final door and setting the house alight, before disappearing into the shadows. Below ground, Sherlock and Mycroft crawled through a labyrinth of tunnels. It went on for hours, each straining to hear any sign of their parents following them. When they came to the end of the maze, Sherlock sat down and began to sob, his heart telling him what he hated to hear. But he had little time to grieve, as a member of the Order showed up to spirit them to the nearest safe house. Everything they had ever owned, bar their pyjamas and the Book of Legends that Sherlock had grabbed, was in ashes and their lives were in tatters.

Grand Master Jai paced the room, his brow furrowed and his heart heavy. Sherlock and Mycroft sat in two chairs before his desk, still in their bedclothes. Jai sighed, sitting across from them. "I'm so sorry, boys. We went as fast as we could but… it wasn't enough. We couldn't save your parents."

"What are we going to do?" Mycroft asked quietly.

"We must remove the two of you from the country, as soon as we can." Jai answered. "I have contacts in Australia who will be able to keep you safe, and teach Sherlock Earth-bending."

"Is that all you care about?" Sherlock yelled, leaping to his feet. "This Avatar stuff? You were meant to keep us safe! My parents _trusted_ you!"

Jai's head bowed. "I am sorry, Sherlock. This is my fault and I should have down more to protect you and your family. One day, I hope you might forgive me. But for now, the best I can do is make sure you reach your full potential, and that you are capable of protecting yourself. Please, Sherlock, all I want is for you to be safe."

"Liar." Sherlock snarled, storming off.

Jai sighed once more, looking to Mycroft, who hadn't said a word since he arrived. "Mycroft, would you please go after your brother?"

Mycroft nodded and stood, his face blank and emotionless. Without enthusiasm, he left the room and followed his younger brother, quickly finding him curled up in a closet. "Sherlock, you're causing a scene." He said quietly.

"I don't care!" Sherlock sobbed. "Mum and dad are dead!"

"I know, Sherlock. But crying isn't going to bring them back. Nothing can."

"But it's impossible for me to not feel sad."

"Sometimes it isn't the actions of another that brings us down, Sherlock. Sometimes it's the pain and suffering we feel in our heart. In order to move on, you need to accept a simple truth: all things come to an end, and all hearts are broken."

"That sounds miserable." Sherlock murmured.

"That's life, Sherlock. All you have left is your destiny."

"And you." The young Avatar added, looking up with hope in his eyes.

Mycroft ran his hand through Sherlock's hair, more out of his own need for comfort than anything else. "I might not always be here. You need to prepare yourself for that day, because as long as I'm a bender, there will always be a chance that I might not see the next tomorrow."

Sherlock's face crumpled once more, the idea of losing his brother squeezing at his chest. "B- But what- what would I- I- I do without you?"

"I'll stay with you, as long as it's in my power to do so." Mycroft said, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's shaking figure. "I'm not just going to run away. But you need to prepare yourself for the day that I won't be here anymore."

Sherlock nodded, though he still clung to his brother. Mycroft helped him up and guided him back to Jai's office, where he curled up beside the fireplace and fell into an uneasy sleep. In his slumber, he heard snatches of the conversation around him, but it merely shaped his dreams. His mind conjured up scenes of dry desert and bushland and strange creatures that bounced around wildly. He ran through low bushes that scratched at his legs while the sun beat down on his pale skin, looking desperately for someone he couldn't remember.


	2. The Earth-bender

**A/N: I'm bored. And I thought I should say that these first few chapter will mainly be about getting Sherlock to learn the four elements. So... yeah. If you see any mistakes point them out and I'll try to fix them.  
**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or Avatar: The Last Airbender (and that includes Legend of Korra too).**

**Chapter Two: Blood From A Stone**

Sherlock padded barefoot down the hallway of the farmhouse they had been living in for nearly three years. It had been chosen simply because of its remoteness, nearly three hours from what could be classified as civilisation, almost at the heart of the largest state in Australia. The land around them was flat and dry, perfect for Earth-bending, and the property was so large that no one could sneak up on them. But he knew that his older brother hated it. He would keep himself in his room for hours, keeping the door firmly locked. Every month he would head to town, returning with various letters from contacts he wouldn't name. As Sherlock had progressed in his studies, maintaining a steady work ethic and a balance between practical and theoretical lessons, Mycroft seemed to grow disinterested. Whereas before he would delight in aiding Sherlock with his bending, now he seemed to flee from it. Master Yamajira, Sherlock's Earth-bending teacher, had told him it was simply Mycroft's way of expressing grief, though that theory had withered as Mycroft's actions persisted. He turned left, headed for his own room, but quickly paused. With every muscle in his body stilled, he could feel the cement beneath his feet vibrating minutely as something came up the driveway. Creeping towards the window, he saw headlights flash in the distance before quickly cutting out. The door of the Ute, obvious even in the moonless night, opened and a man got out. Sherlock's eyes narrowed, watching him suspiciously. To his left, the front door opened, but the porch lights remained off. He didn't need them, though, as it was only his brother and himself in the house; Master Yamajira had left a day ago for Perth on business.

Mycroft made his way towards the man, who stood taller than the twenty-four year old and was a great deal musclier. Mycroft seemed unperturbed by the stranger's stature, walking up to him as though they were old friends. The Water-bender pulled an envelope from his pocket and passed it to the man, making a comment that Sherlock couldn't hear. His mysterious companion nodded, placing his hand on Mycroft's forehead. There was a flash of light when skin met skin, and Mycroft began to glow. First, he was a bright, vibrant blue, but slowly, as if a storm was gathering, it began to turn grey. Sherlock ran to the front door, his hands against the flywire as Mycroft fell to his knees and the man retracted his hand.

"Mycroft!" Sherlock yelled, pushing the door open and racing to his brother's side. "My- Mycroft, are you…?"

"I'm fine, Sherlock. Go back inside the house." Mycroft said weakly, his face dripping with sweat.

Sherlock looked up at the stranger, into a scarred face set with cruel, blue eyes. "Who are you?"

"You should listen to your brother, kid. It's dangerous out here when there's no moon." The man responded in a deep growl, sounding like a spoilt housecat that had gone feral only for the pleasure of it. "After all, doesn't that make you Water-benders _powerless_?" He added with an evil grin.

Sherlock glared, opening his mouth to shout an angry retort, only to be cut off by Mycroft. "That is all, Mr Moran. I no longer require your services."

"Pleasure doing business with you." Moran replied, bowing mockingly. He winked at Sherlock before climbing back into the Ute, it roaring into life and taking off back down the driveway.

"Who was that, Mycroft?" Sherlock asked, helping his brother to his feet.

"I'm feeling a bit off right now, Sherlock. Would you mind helping me to my room? I- I need to lie down for a little while."

"But-"

"Please."

Sherlock sighed, laying his brother's arm across his shoulder and heaving him up. With effort, he helped his brother to his room, but was dismissed at the door. "Tomorrow, you're going to tell me what happened." He told his brother seriously.

Mycroft pretended not to hear it, closing the door with a tight, "Goodnight, Sherlock."

**d(^_^)b**

It was three days before Mycroft emerged from his room, and in that time Master Yamajira returned with some new books. He took one look at Sherlock, who had been sitting outside Mycroft's room, and surmised that _something_ had happened.

"Myc, is something wrong?" Yamajira called, banging on the door hard enough to dent it. "Myc."

The door opened a fraction, Mycroft peering out through the sliver. "You know how much I dislike that nickname."

"What's going on? What's been happening while I was away?" Yamajira demanded.

"Nothing."

"Then what's getting your brother all worked up?"

"I haven't a clue what you're-"

"A man came to the house the other night. He put his hand on Mycroft's head, and there was light and Mycroft fell over." Sherlock said immediately.

"What? What sort of man?" Yamajira asked, darting a look at Mycroft.

"He was tall, taller than me even, and muscular. Mycroft called him Mr Moran."

Yamajira paled, his eyes going wide. With his fists clenched, he turned to Mycroft slowly, his voice a low hiss, "Did you bring one of _them_ to this place?"

"I don't know what-"

"Dammit, Mycroft! What have you done?"

"It's none of your business!" Mycroft snapped, poising to slam his door.

Yamajira blocked the way with his foot, forcing it fully open and sending Mycroft stumbling back. He grabbed him by the collar, shaking with barely controlled rage. "You brought a stranger to this land, and even worse you brought a thief!"

"I paid him to take it away!" Mycroft shouted back.

"That was your gift, Mycroft! A gift from your ancestors!" Yamajira yelled, shaking him. "And what's worse, you don't know what you've brought on your brother!"

Mycroft pushed him away, leaning against his desk. "What are you talking about?"

"Moran has ties with the League! That's why his family is so dangerous. First, they have people pay to have their powers taken away, and then they send the League after them and their families. It's because of them that so many of us have died."

"I… I didn't know."

"Well now you do." Yamajira said harshly.

"Mycroft, what did you do?" Sherlock asked quietly, stepping into the room. _Please don't say it. Don't tell me you've done what I think you've done._

Mycroft refused to look Sherlock in the eyes. "I paid him to take my bending away."

"We need to go. They could be here any minute. Take only the most precious things and get to the car. Now!" Yamajira commanded, racing out of the room.

"Mycroft, how could you?" Sherlock said quietly.

"I want to be normal. I want to stop running. I want to not be a secret from the world." He answered tiredly. "I want to live."

"You said you'd never leave me."

Mycroft said nothing, and Sherlock left him, disgusted. He rushed to his room and grabbed his few precious possessions, stuffing them into his knapsack. Yamajira appeared at the doorway, urging him out to the car, before heading for Mycroft's room. Sherlock climbed into the back of the ancient truck, holding his bag against his chest. Mycroft climbed in beside him a few minutes later, as silent as ever. Yamajira took his place at the front, firing up the engine with a cough more than a roar, his hand on the radio. "This is the Green Fledgling hailing the Nest, do you hear me?"

The radio was quiet for a moment, crackling with static, before a cheery voice responded, "Yeah, mate? This is Big Boy from the Nest, whad'ya need?"

"We're in trouble, mate. The farmhouse has been found. I'm commencing the evac now." Yamajira replied.

"Roger that, mate. We'll send a couple flyboys by to see what we can save. Get to the airport. You're going to Queensland."

"Over and out."

Sherlock glanced to Mycroft. His brother leant against the window with his eyes closed, still looking too pale to be healthy. He couldn't fathom the desperation his brother had felt, or the secrecy he had planned it all with. And now his brother would leave him for a 'normal' life. A weight settled in his stomach like a block of ice, and he forced down a sob. _All things come to an end, and all hearts are broken,_ he reminded himself, _and now the time with my brother has as well_.


	3. The Fire-bender

**A/N: I'm sorry for being away so long! Here's another chapter, sorry if there are any errors! Bless you! Thank you for reading and reviewing!**

**Chapter Three: The Fire-bender**

Once again, Sherlock found himself in a foreign land with barely any material possessions. This time it was Brazil, where no one would notice another pale, sweaty tourist wandering the streets. And after years in the Australian outback, where human contact had been reserved to three people, the crowded streets of Brazil, full of noise and smells and people practically shoulder to shoulder, was a shock to his senses. His Fire-bending teacher, Master Guerra, was an inviting woman, openly affectionate and willing to share her home with her few pupils and various children who wandered in off the streets. He quickly began to loathe the others, mostly for their intrusiveness but also because, as a mysterious Englishman who had shown up in the middle of the night, he was a prime target for bullying. So he had taken to wandering the streets until late at night, when the other children were nearly asleep, often forgoing his nightly meals. He would observe the people who prowled the streets at night, watching them for signs of what they were doing using the skills he and his brother had sharpened during visits to the city. They would watch and observe and they would know. It was entertainment and a lesson in one. But his nightly wanders had an impact on his schooling, and his Fire-bending became abysmal. He was forced to work twice as hard on half the sleep just to keep up.

After eight weeks of strenuous training, his body began to fail him. But he kept going, pushing himself to the point of collapse. His body couldn't handle the stress and one morning he couldn't get up. Guerra stayed by his side, leaving her teaching duties to her assistant, worrying over him like a mother. And she sang to him, as he lay dying on a thin mattress in her home, sweet songs that had been handed down her family for generations. "Little soldier boy, come marching home. Brave soldier boy, comes marching home. Leaves on the vine, drifting in the wind. Beckons you home, welcomes you in. Forget the war, quiet your mind. Follow the road, to leaves on the vine. Little soldier boy, come marching home. Brave soldier boy, comes marching home."

Sherlock closed his eyes, focusing on getting to the next breath. A cool cloth was pressed to his forehead, rivulets of water flowing into his hair. Guerra's singing began to slur together, becoming something he couldn't understand. His breathing slowed to match his sluggish pulse. Light painted itself across his eyelids, and a hand reached out to him. He took it weakly, and he was pulled upwards. Finding ground beneath his feet, he stumbled and nearly crashed into someone.

"Hello, Sherlock." Looking up, Sherlock came face to face with someone he had only ever seen in a book. The monk smiled at him mischievously, brown eyes gleaming. "My name is Aang."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "You're not real."

"If you want to have a philosophical debate with me on existential theories of realism versus imagination, now really isn't the time." Aang replied, still smiling. "I'm here to help you move on from this obstruction in your life."

"You died _thousands_ of years ago. This is just my mind becoming addled by the fever." Sherlock insisted stubbornly.

"You're the Avatar, Sherlock. Freaky things happen to us, and I'm speaking from experience." Aang told him. "Visions of your past lives start to get really commonplace after a while."

Sherlock sighed, giving in. "Fine. But what obstruction are you talking about."

Aang raised his eyebrow at Sherlock. "This problem you're having involving your brother."

"I don't _have_ a brother." Sherlock spat venomously. "He made that perfectly clear when he- when he abandoned me." He wasn't going to cry. He wouldn't let himself do something so embarrassing and childish.

Aang's expression softened, putting his arm around Sherlock's shoulder. "A man in a swamp once told me that loss is an illusion, and that so is time. We are all connected, and that connection cannot be broken by distance or age or even death. The people we loved aren't gone even if they aren't with us. And the love they felt for us comes back to us in new love. Your parents loved you, Sherlock. Your brother loves you. And in the future, others will love you just as much."

"But… he chose to have his Water-bending taken away. And now he's moved back to England."

"Your brother didn't do those things to hurt you. He was afraid. Don't be mad at him for being afraid, Sherlock, it's only natural."

"I miss him." Sherlock admitted quietly.

"Distance is an illusion. You and your brother are connected, just like every other living thing in the world. Don't forget that." Aang paused, glancing to Sherlock. "I know it hurts. You feel as though you're completely alone. You're secretly hoping you don't survive this fever, that your body will just give out and you won't have to bother anymore. Most of all, you feel bored. This whole thing has been done before, so why bother? It hasn't worked the first thousand times, why would it work now? And the answer isn't satisfying, Sherlock. It isn't a neat little package that will explain everything to you. The answer is only this: it is your destiny."

"But why? Why must I be the one to do this? What am I supposed to even _do_?"

"Save the world, unite its people, and bring about a new age of peace."

"What am I saving the world from?"

Aang shrugged. "I'm not sure. The Spirit World can only feel the barest vibrations from the future, so we only know bits and pieces. But whatever's coming, it will be big. And if you don't stop it, millions could die."

"But why does it have to be me?" Sherlock asked, exasperated.

"You're the Avatar, no one else could do it, even if they wanted to." Aang said. "But you don't have to do it alone. Your friends can help you."

"I don't have _friends_." Sherlock said bitterly.

"Your Masters care about you."

"Only because they have to."

Aang sighed, rubbing his neck. "So stubborn." He murmured under his breath.

Sherlock sat down, pulling his dressing gown tightly around him. "I like being alone. Alone means no one can hurt me."

Aang glanced at Sherlock sadly, sitting down across from him. "Friends don't hurt you, they protect you."

Sherlock laughed sourly. "Really? That's a wonderful bit of sentiment, Avatar Aang, but it's hardly true."

"Yes it is. I wouldn't have made it half as far as I did without my friends." Aang replied. "It's perfectly fine to need someone. It's fine to rely on someone else from time to time."

"I don't need anyone. I have my brain. I'll be fine." Sherlock said, looking away. After a minute, he looked back to find Aang was gone. Everything was silent once more. The ground beneath him gave way, and took the light with it.

**d(^_^)b**

Master Guerra paced in front of her class, watching them run through the motions. There were only four of them, Sherlock included, and she was quietly proud of all of them. Only one of them, Erique, (fifteen years old) was local. The other two, Penelope (fourteen) and Baldur (seventeen) were from New York and Norway, respectively. Their parents had paid for them to fly all the way to Brazil, just to be taught by her. Enrique was, like many young boys, orphaned, and she had taken him in because she saw potential and a spark. He was cunning and manipulative, but his heart was always in the right place. Mostly. Not to mention the wonders a stable home life and good, solid meals could do for ones temperament. Penelope was spoilt and sour, raised more by money than by her parents. She balked at the conditions she was expected to live in, and nearly turned tail when she was informed of the chores she would be required to complete. But slowly, she was growing and evolving as a person, letting the fire that flowed through her veins warm her heart. Baldur was easygoing, preferring to let others handle the big decisions. His fire was placid, with barely enough energy to keep itself alive, but after a few months with Master Guerra, it had roared with intensity. His new challenge was learning to keep it under control. And then there was Sherlock, the Avatar. It was his destiny to become a great bender, but only when he resolved his inner turmoil. His sickness, it seemed, had done that to a degree. Over the years, he had made progress in his bending, but not his social skills. But they could work on that.

"At ease, students. You may rest," Guerra said, standing in front of them with a serene smile gracing her lips. "Have a good day."

"Thank you, Master Guerra," the students chanted, bowing. Penelope and Baldur quickly gathered their things and left, arguing about music. Enrique followed them, but made no effort to catch up to them. Sherlock was taking his time, waiting for the others to get far enough ahead that they wouldn't be able to talk to him.

"Hudson, you should spend some time with the others. It's been five years and you've barely said two words to them. You never know, they might appreciate your company," Guerra said, referring to him by the name the Order had provided him with.

"The only thing people appreciate about me is my powers," Sherlock replied bitterly.

Guerra moved over to him, patting his shoulder. "Only because you never open up enough for them to see you."

"They can see me. I'm not translucent or intangible," Sherlock said, frowning at his teacher.

"You may as well be," Guerra sighed. "Hudson, you need friends. Someone you can trust when things aren't going so well."

"I _had_ someone like that, and then they abandoned me," Sherlock snapped.

Guerra pulled him into her arms, feeling him tense with discomfort. "Don't get mad at your brother for being scared. We all feel it, no matter what. He needs you to be brave for him Hudson, and to forgive him."

Sherlock's shoulders slumped as he nearly fell into her grasp. He couldn't help it. It had been a long time since he had been embraced by anyone, and he missed it. He missed the nights when his mother would tuck him into bed and tell him stories about a world long gone. He missed sitting on his father's knee as he read the newspaper. He missed having his brother sneak him sweets when their mother wasn't looking, and taking him to the city to people watch. He missed his home. He missed England. "Promise me you'll stay safe," he mumbled.

"Of course I will, dear. I'm going to be retiring soon, and I'll be joining my husband in Florida," she grinned.

"Please, tell me you'll be safe," Sherlock begged, looking down into Master Guerra's eyes.

Her smile faltered, and the lines around her eyes tightened. Few who looked at the thin, older woman would have believed that she was a master of a martial art; much less that she could produce flames with her bare hands. And in those few moments, Sherlock saw real fear in her eyes as a memory passed before them.

"What is it?"

"It's nothing," she murmured, taking Sherlock's hands and holding them tightly. "I promise I'll be safe. I'm a Master of Fire-bending, what could possibly hurt me?"

"Would I be able to send you letters? Or call you?"

"I'm sure we could work something out," Guerra said softly. She took a deep breath, patting his cheek. "I think it's time for you to go on to the next element. I've taught you all I know."

"I don't- I don't want to leave you," Sherlock said. "You're the closest thing I've got to a mother and I…"

"I know, _Sherlock_. I know. And don't worry, I won't be far away if you need me," Guerra told him, pulling him out of the room by his arm. "Now, I want you to go and spend some time with your classmates. You've got precious little time to make friends with them, so you may as well start now."

Sherlock let out an exasperated sigh, but made no effort to stop. His chest seemed lighter, and he felt a pleasant warmth tickling his heart. He spent the rest of the night talking, albeit half-heartedly, to the others. And in the morning, a car was waiting to take him away.

**d(~_~)b**

_Mycroft,_

_I'm sorry for being such an unforgiving twerp all these years. I know that what you did wasn't because of me, and I'm sorry. I didn't mean what I said. Please, I miss you._

_Sherlock._


	4. The Air-bender

**A/N: Salutations, dear readers! Who's up for a little Air-bending action? Now, I know some of you may be wondering 'wouldn't Air-benders have died out by now?' or something like that. You're half right. I'm basing a lot of this off of a single sentence in the Air Nomads wiki page, which was something along the lines of 'it's assumed that there were no Air Nomad non-benders because a lot of Air-bending is based on spirituality'. Not 100% I know but hey, it's convenient. So, now anyone can be an Air-bender! So long as you have a couple decades to practise forms and meditation, that is... Also, the 'threw his soul forward in time thing'... The Avatar _probably_ could do something like that, if it was the only way to ensure his (or her) existence. Kind of like the Avatar State but more... timey-wimey.**

**Anyways, enjoy the story! And if there's anything I need to fix or etc, review or PM me and it shall be done!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own SHERLOCK or AVATAR: THE LAST AIRBENDER.**

**Chapter Four: The Air-bender**

The air was cool but fierce, and Sherlock drew a deep breath as he looked out over the valley. He had nothing but the clothes on his back and a staff the monks had bequeathed him. It was certainly beautiful, hand-carved and made of a dark, polished wood. When it opened out into its glider form, the intricate designs embroidered on its fan could truly dazzle. It had been made with love, as had all of the gliders the monks had made. The Air Acolytes, as they called themselves, had spent many years reviving the culture that many had thought lost forever. The Avatar before him, the one who had died all those years ago, had been the last natural Air-bender. It was said that with his dying breath, he threw his soul forward in time, to a time where Air-benders could be found. Twenty years before Sherlock's birth, four monks in the depths of Tibet had walked up a mountain and made a home in a cave. They took no food and no water, only ancient scrolls that had been kept secret for thousands of years in the bowels of a dead temple. For nearly twenty years, they meditated and practised the teachings of the scrolls. On the last day, the day of Sherlock's birth, it was said they reached enlightenment, and that something divine touched their spirits. When they came back down the mountain, they were Air-benders. It was here that Sherlock would learn the last sacred art. It was here that Sherlock would become an Air-bender, and soon, a fully realised Avatar.

"Yylan, please come inside," Monk Gyat said, using the name the monks had chosen for him. It was supposed to protect his identity, and it was one of many monikers he had borne throughout life. Indeed, the name on his birth certificate wasn't even his true name. Names were something to be used sparingly, and to be abandoned when they lost their use. The name Sherlock had now had been something his father had found on a tombstone, but it was one he liked. And long ago, his mother had taken the name Holmes from a man she had once loved, but could never trust. They had never been used outside the Order, nor associated with the slightest breath of the word Avatar, and when he had reached his full potential, it was the name he would reveal to the world.

Sherlock bowed his head, looking out at the valley once more. "Yes, Monk Gyat."

Gyat was the last of the four monks who had ascended the mountain, the others having passed beyond the veil. When the four of them had returned, they taught anyone willing to learn. And person by person, Air-bending returned to the world, as pure as the day it was lost. Each monk had had many descendents to carry on their work, and many students who wished to reach out to the divine. But only Gyat remained to pass on the knowledge, the true knowledge, they had found. Although it had been a long, long time since they had been applied, his tattoos still stood out brightly against his skin. "We have little time, your training must begin immediately," Gyat informed him, leading him through the candlelit tunnel. "We will begin with some meditative exercises, and then proper forms. I'm sure you're aware that much of Air-bending is deeply spiritual."

"Yes, Master. I am," Sherlock replied, ducking his head to avoid scraping his head against the low ceiling.

"Good. I present to you the home of the Air Acolytes, the Temple of the Mountain," Gyat said, emerging from the tunnel.

Sherlock followed him out, eyes widening. The space was huge, full of elaborate buildings, carved from the mountains themselves. Far above them, sunlight flooded in from an opening. Trees and vines grew in abundance, wild and untamed. Men, women, and children milled about, working or playing or relaxing, all of them wearing the traditional robes of the Air-benders. A river ran strong somewhere outside of his perception, clean and cold and inviting. Animals could be heard, both wild and tamed. The tunnel entrance behind them slid shut, keeping out anything that couldn't fly. Sherlock descended the stairs with Monk Gyat, staring about in wonder. The people were quiet for a moment, before surging forwards happily. "Welcome home!" they cheered, reaching out to him.

"This is your home now, Yylan, and it will be as long as you want it," Monk Gyat smiled, pushing Sherlock into the grasp of the crowd, who immediately began to hug and kiss him. "Welcome home."

* * *

The hall was quiet but for the rhythmic chanting of the monks, lit by thousands of candles. The walls bore markings in the Old Tongue, and murals of animals that no longer existed. The floor was rough stone, softened by mats and rugs. The room vibrated with an intense, untouchable aura. Sherlock knelt alongside Monk Gyat, hands clasped in front of him and his eyes shut, reaching out to the Spirit Realm. It had been three years since he had arrived at the Temple, and although it had been informative and relaxing, it had also been boring. He was dying for something that would excite him, something that would challenge his mind. When he was younger, he would watch the news with his parents and tell them who was innocent and who was guilty. Once he had even tried to help the police. Not that they listened. But still, at least he wasn't restless and _bored_. He was certain Monk Gyat could feel him bubbling over with energy.

"Breathe out your frustrations and go in peace," Monk Nhani intoned in the Old Tongue, ending the mass.

The crowd sighed, and soon dispersed. Sherlock remained with Monk Gyat, though he was desperate to do something to challenge himself mentally. "Yylan, you wish to say something?" Gyat asked, his eyes still closed.

"I'm bored," Sherlock murmured. "Mentally, I mean. I need something to occupy my mind and prevent it from wasting away."

Gyat smiled. "Yes, young minds do tend to waste if not appropriately challenged. How about a game of Pai Sho?"

Sherlock groaned, resting his face in his hands. "I've played Pai Sho a thousand times. I know every move back to front and sideways."

"And yet, you haven't won a single game," Gyat commented.

"Against _you_," Sherlock replied. "I _need_ something to solve. A puzzle, a mystery."

"Yylan, we've talked about this. You can't go into town and butt into a police investigation. You're meant to be lying low," Gyat said, getting to his feet.

Sherlock collapsed back with a grunt, his large, lanky form filling the ground. "But my mind is going to waste!" he whined.

"I'll talk to Master Jai. Perhaps he can dig up a few cold case files to keep you interested," Gyat said, leaving the room.

Sherlock sighed, sitting up. It would be a few hours before his next training session, and there was little else to do. He had finished his chores early in the morning, and had cleaned every square inch of his room. Twice. Climbing to his feet, he wandered out of the hall and towards the playing fields. Perhaps he could help the teachers somehow? Spotting several people on the path ahead of him, he ducked to the side, hiding in the bushes as much as he could. It wasn't that he didn't like them, it was just that he wasn't used to being hugged every five seconds. Waiting for them to pass, and silently praying that they didn't spot him, Sherlock studied the wall to his right. Like many other walls around the compound, this one housed a statue. It was a woman, an Earth-bender if the symbols on her were correct. Sherlock wondered who she might be, and what she had done to warrant a statue. He stared into the eyes, thinking. His breathing slowed, sounds of the outside world fading away. _Why is she so familiar?_ _I feel like I know her_, he thought.

"Her name is Avatar Kyoshi," a voice said next to his ear.

Sherlock froze, his heart nearly leaping out of his chest. Turning, he sighed with relief. "Avatar Aang."

Aang smiled, straightening up and offering Sherlock a hand. "It's good to see you, Sherlock."

"I take it I'm… dreaming?" Sherlock guessed, looking around at the blank expanse they were standing in.

"It's more of a trance," Aang said.

"Why is it so bare? The last time I saw you we were in a garden," Sherlock asked, taking a step to his left.

"It requires a bit of thought on your part," Aang explained. "Think of somewhere you like."

Sherlock closed his eyes. When he opened them, they were in his father's study, something that he hadn't seen for nearly a decade. Aang looked around curiously, moving over to investigate the desk. "That was easy," Sherlock murmured.

Aang picked up the phone, fiddling with the buttons. "Gee, Sokka would have a fit if he could see this stuff."

"So, that woman, she was one of my predecessors?"

"Yep. Kyoshi was the Avatar before Roku, who came before me," Aang said, putting the phone back in place.

"I have a question: why do I see you, instead of Avatar Kang?"

"Hmm, good question," Aang replied, sitting down on the floor and scratching his chin. "Could be that you, I don't know, imprinted on me. Like a baby turtle-duckling."

"You mean a duckling."

Aang frowned. "Animals nowadays are weird."

"I could say the same thing about the turtle-duckling," Sherlock replied.

Aang laughed. "I suppose you could."

Sherlock perched himself on the edge of a couch, biting his lip. "Can I ask another question?"

"Alright."

"What am I meant to do? After I master Air-bending, I mean."

"Well, when I was the Avatar, I had to stop Firelord Ozai from wiping out every other nation and taking over the world. Do you have anything like that?"

"There is a shady organisation trying to wipe out every trace of our people's existence," Sherlock said matter-of-factly.

"There you go! You can fight that," Aang smiled.

"How? They're everywhere."

"Tell people about them, show people what you can do!"

Sherlock leant forwards, fingers clutching the hem of his robes. "The Order thinks it's best for our kind to stay secret. They believe telling people would only lead to trouble."

Aang shrugged. "It might, it might not. You'll never know if you don't try."

"I'll see what I can do," Sherlock murmured. He cocked his head to the side, sounds reaching him from beyond the door. He stood up, moving towards it as though he were half-asleep. Behind him, Aang vanished in a puff of smoke. His fingers brushed the heavy wood, and it opened easily, swinging wide to welcome him in. Inside, in a kitchen he had never seen before, a woman sat on the floor, sobbing. Things around her were in disarray, thrown about in a violent rage. Bruises were forming over her skin and a large cut marked her forehead. "Master Guerra," Sherlock whispered, kneeling beside her. He raised a hand to cup her chin only for it to go straight through. The stomping of angry feet made both Sherlock and Guerra turn sharply.

"Still cryin', are ya? I'll give you somethin' to really cry about in a minute," a large man snarled from the doorway. "What are you waitin' for? Get me my dinner, you stupid bitch!"

"Y- Yes. G- give me a- a moment," Guerra sniffled, getting shakily to her feet.

"It had better be done by the time I get back, or else you'll find out just how mean I can _really_ be."

"Yes, dear. I'm sorry."

The man left, his footsteps audible as he stomped away. The front door was thrown open with a crash, and then the squeal of tires on asphalt as he sped off. Guerra limped over to the freezer, pulling out the odds and ends she would use to make a meal, blood still oozing from the wound on her forehead. Sherlock moved over and placed his hand, or as close as he could get to it at least, on her shoulder. Guerra stiffened a bit, but then her shoulders slumped, her face softening. "What I wouldn't give for this to be over," she sighed softly to herself.

"I know you can't hear me, but I promise I'll make this better. I promise," Sherlock whispered, leaning forward to brush a ghostly kiss across her cheek. And then he awoke at the foot of the statue, a small crowd gathered around him in concern. A boiling rage was brewing in his stomach, threatening to flood his veins and poison his heart. Guerra's broken sobbing was still echoing in his ears as he raced towards his room.

Monk Gyat followed him as quickly as he could. "Yylan, what's wrong?"

"Guerra, she's in trouble. I need to go to her," Sherlock said, picking up his glider and his rucksack.

"Calm down, tell me, how do you know this?"

"I had a vision. I need to go to Guerra right now," Sherlock replied, trying to get past Monk Gyat.

"Let me contact Master Jai. He can send someone to help her."

"No, it has to be me. She'll only trust me," Sherlock snapped, pushing Gyat out of the way.

Gyat pushed back, putting Sherlock in a swift headlock. The taller man struggled for a minute before realising that the monk's grip was too strong, despite his age. "At least let _me_ go with you, Yylan. It is my duty to protect you," Gyat said.

"Fine," Sherlock grumbled.

Gyat let him go, the dark-haired man stumbling across the room. "Good. I shall tell the others while you prepare for our departure. And the Order must know, if only the barest details, of your plan, or else they will make sure we are delayed and returned to the Temple," Gyat told him, leaving the room.


End file.
